


Sundown

by jackaloperuns



Series: The Sundown Saga [1]
Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Children of The Moon, M/M, Renee Dwyer - Mentioned, Vampires vs Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackaloperuns/pseuds/jackaloperuns
Summary: Beaufort Swan is certain that Edward Cullen is a vampire, in fact he would stake his life on it. Though the prospect of immortality becomes slightly less enamouring when his realisation coincides with the kidnapping of seven students, beginning the tale of a far darker secret harboured within the town of Forks.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Beau Swan, Jacob Black/Beau Swan
Series: The Sundown Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892671
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. Octet

Joining the line by the entrance to the cafeteria reminded Beau of kindergarten. He had walked single file from his third period English lesson with the rest of his class, across the outer campus and nodded infrequently as he listened to Mike attempt to fill every empty moment with idle small talk — people cope in different ways, he thought.

Thursday morning marked the fourth day in which the new policies, marketed as a means to keep the students at Forks High School safer and more secure, had been in place. Normally any change to routine would have been rebelled against by the student body, but they had been announced as a necessity after the disappearances of seven students.

The least of which included travelling from one class to another in groups and continued through to establishing meeting points at the start and end of the school day. Now, Beau had stared lost in thought at the back of Mike’s burgundy sweatshirt, watching helplessly as he balanced the fine line between logical thought and spinning out with worst case scenarios.

Each of the missing students, including Angela and Eric, had last been seen on Friday and not heard from since. Sunday evening saw an influx of panicked telephone calls to the sheriff’s station, of friends and families desperate to locate their missing loved ones. Unsurprisingly, that had propelled school-wide interviews first thing on Monday and Beau had sat uncomfortably in front of Deputy Parrish for twenty-minutes, reciting his whereabouts over the weekend and the last time he had spoken with Angela.

He had not so much as spoken to her as shared covert glances beside Jessica’s Sedan after the last bell on Friday. Jessica desperately wanted Mike to ask her to prom, and whenever the topic arose in conversation, Beau had found an equally sombre ally in Angela; they had made a vow weeks ago to artfully steer Jessica in Mike’s direction if he still had not caught onto the obvious.

Beau fidgeted in line and gripped the strap of his nylon back-pack, giving his hands an excuse to not hang awkwardly at his sides. It had been one of the circumstances he had consciously attempted to avoid upon starting his belated school year, to not appear to be socially awkward or a loner-type in any obvious way. It was a possible scenario born from anxiety, albeit one that was not altogether impossible after spending much of his academic career surrounded by taller, sun-kissed versions of the modern teenager.

Three months had passed since and not even he, self-proclaimed pessimist, and adversary of sleepy Washington towns, could have suspected that a series of disappearances was in the cards. A miraculous weekend heatwave or a band of wandering boy scouts lost briefly in the forest, sure, but not something as dark as this. He had vowed to Mike at the beginning of the week to divulge what information he could from Charlie, but his father had not been home since the calls had come in on Sunday evening — the chief of police was in high demand when children were missing.

“—and it just doesn’t make sense, why would Eric be going to Seattle?” Beau broke from his pre-lunch reverie, occupied with his own theories, quickly enough to catch the end of Mike’s rambling.

The beginning of the week had seen Forks police tracking down the vehicles of the students that were missing, a connection aside from their shared school being that they had each been driving. Eric’s Hyundai had been abandoned on the roadside of route 101, halfway to Seattle. It was a question that Mike kept circling back to, and Beau had admitted to himself silently that there was likely something to it — the chances that Eric would have mentioned a weekend trip to Seattle were high.

Mike was adamant that Eric would not have gone to Seattle without him, or at least Angela; whose own economically friendly Prius was found in Port Angeles. By Tuesday morning the police had found two other cars belonging to the suspected abductees, one parked with the keys still in the ignition at La Push beach, and other within the parking lot of the local library.

A statement had been issued shortly afterwards that there had been no signs of struggle at any of the sites, but rumours had been circling that essential items such as cell phones were still plugged into aux cables and dashboard holders.

“Do you think he was going to get a suit for prom?” Beau offered up a placeholder suggestion that he himself had discarded, upon learning that Angela had not yet asked Eric to accompany her to the dance; if things were different, it was likely that she would have asked him this week.

Beau was uncertain as to whether Angela would have asked him to accompany her to the port town an hour away, but he did know that she would not have gone without Jessica — who had reportedly locked herself away in her bedroom at home, understandably distraught. Beau had attempted to get in touch with her and had even visited the Stanley residence an evening prior, but her parents had turned him away.

“Maybe Angela asked him before—” he paused, hopeful that Mike had not caught the tactless reminder of their missing friends, “do you think he was going to Seattle because he and Angela were going together? If she asked him, maybe he was excited and couldn’t wait to try something on?” Even as Beau spoke the words, he was painfully aware of how unlikely the theory was with each additional word he added to the question; Angela would had called Jessica and Eric would have called Mike almost immediately if they had asked one another over the weekend.

Beau did not have much experience in comforting others. He had stayed up until the early hours of the morning each time his mother had unwittingly killed one of their tropical fish, but that was the pitiful extent of his bedside manner. All he could was sit and listen to Mike, sharing in his worry for the safety of their friends each evening after school, but every time he attempted to find the right words to say, he came up short.

“We were meant to do that together next weekend, after I asked—” Mike paused briefly as the line shuffled forward a few paces, “somebody. He wouldn’t have gone without me, and he was terrified that Angela was going to say no.” Beau offered a dry smile and felt a pang of sadness swell within the pit of his stomach; he could easily envision both Angela and Eric sourcing enough courage to ask one another to prom at precisely the same moment. “What if the kidnapper planted his car there so that we would think he was going to Seattle, when really he could have taken Eric in the other direction?”

The school counsellor had advised that some students may concoct their own theories as a means to rationalise the truth that their peers were missing. It helped the mind to create a villain, a faceless entity that could serve as a conduit for their question, their pain, and their anger. Beau had sat through that impromptu assembly on Tuesday afternoon, filled with a numbness that still had not fully dissipated. 

Though accompanying the numbness was a marrow deep guilt, born from his continued fascination with Edward Cullen; and the fact that he had now come to the conclusion that his biology partner was a vampire. Yet the possibility of his unconfirmed suspicions paled in comparison to the disappearances of his friends, as though it was entirely mundane in the face of a far darker reality.

“I really couldn’t say, Mike,” Beau continued to try and remain neutral, not disparaging Mike but also being careful so as to not encourage him to theorise further, “I believe they’re going to be found, that’s all we can believe.” A surge of culpability swam through him as he struggled to believe his own words, let alone the message that he was preaching — he had sat through enough cop shows with Charlie to know that the first twenty-four hours were crucial, and it had now been one hundred and forty-four.

Mike did not reply and simply nodded, smiling with a kindness behind his eyes that told Beau he was grateful for the support. A second later and the line moved forward again after what felt like an eternity, Mike’s cheeks flushing a deep red as his stomach growled.

“My parents are making me work at the store tonight, probably to keep an eye on me. Do you maybe want to—” Mike had nervously scratched the back of his head as he spoke, the words recited as if he had been going through them mentally before finding the courage to speak them; though before he could finish, he was interrupted by the whimsical voice of Mrs. Weatherbaum, their English teacher.

“Thank you for being so patient, class, you can now make your way into the cafeteria in an orderly fashion. Though before you queue for your lunch, please find a seat immediately as the principle has an announcement to make.” Mrs. Weatherbaum was a petite woman with a sense for fashion of the 1940s and the know-how to pair vintage items with modern accessories; marking her as quirky as opposed to tacky. She was easily identified by her strawberry blonde hair, which was forever arranged into a neat ponytail, burning like a single ember beneath Forks’ gloomy sky.

Beau liked her, not entirely for any real academic reason but because she was the perfect balance of teacher and role model. She had personally made herself available for any students that wanted to talk but did not feel comfortable speaking to a stranger, and she genuinely held an interest in the safety of her students. That had been evident long before she had spent the past hour ensuring that everybody had a safe means to get home, and for the one student that was left with no other option but to walk, they now had a ride home with her at the end of the school day.

“Do you think they’ve found something?” Mike’s ears pricked up like a startled canine, his head snapping up and down the line of students as though somebody could provide him with an answer. Though he was not alone in his intrigue as people quickly began shuffling through the double doors at the head of the line; immediately students left and right leapt towards the first available seats they could fine, nobody wanting to be left standing at the back of the room. 

Mike had taken a hold of Beau’s sleeve, tugging on his woollen sweater desperately as he expertly navigated the sea of bodies ahead. Eventually he managed to reach a table at the far corner of the room, immediately claiming the last two seats — Beau recognised a few of the occupants as faces from his geography class, and as had become a habit, he was disappointed to see that Edward was nowhere to be seen.

The natural daylight filtering through the glass ceiling did little to improve the atmosphere, only succeeding in giving the lunchroom a grim glow. Beau lowered into his seat and placed his backpack on the floor between his knees, offering a passive smile to Mike, who was rubbing sweaty palms together and struggling to sit still.

As two more classes entered the cafeteria and another lined up against the back wall, conflicting conversations buzzed to the symphony of shuffling backpacks and the scent of rain and fresh air as people shuffled in from the exterior.

Principle Wainwright was wearing one his typical brown suits when he entered, salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed to the right side of his head and stationed above a deep-set, gaunt face that had earned him the nickname, Grim Reaper. It was one of the first pieces of information that Beau had learned during his first lunchtime with Mike and the others, each of them desperate to appear impressive before a fabled Arizona transfer; though that novelty had worn off, and Beau could not help but feel as though he was slightly less impressive than they had all hoped.

As the principle spoke with a small congregation of teachers at the front of the room, Charlie and a man that Beau did not recognise entered and made a beeline for Wainwright; the sudden appearance of the chief of police was like a tuning fork that immediately sapped every drop of sound and chatter, unassumingly commanding complete attention.

It was the first time that Beau had seen his father since Sunday evening, and it was clear from the bruises beneath his eyes and the unusual paleness of his skin that was not sleeping. He had returned at some point to retrieve some spare shirts, but Beau had been in class; the only communication they had were the infrequent telephone calls every evening, and even then it was only to check in and ensure they were both still among the living.

Beau stared at his father and waited for Charlie to give him a sign, a gesture or a facial expression that would pre-emptively confirm that the announcement was good news; but one never came. Instead, Principle Wainwright took centre stage and cleared his throat, shuffling nervously before characteristically folding his hands.

“Students, I trust that you are all well and have taken the necessary precautions in light of this tragic event,” Beau immediately deduced that there was not going to be any good news, it was evident in Waintwright’s tone of voice, “as you know, we have taken our own precautions here to ensure that all of our students are safe during schooling hours,” he paused, “but it has recently come to light that there has been another incident.”

Every voice immediately sounded in shock and fear, some screamed, and others bellowed questions that were reminiscent of dinner table conversations, emulating the voices of their parents. Mike stood to his feet, after many students had already done so, and the colour drained from his face; his palms raised to caress his templates and he looked like he was going to be sick. Beau was unsure as to whether he wanted to ask a question, or if he was spiralling.

“Students, please, settle down!” Principle Wainwright yelled over the noise and raised his hands, as though the latter would aid him in some way. “Now you do not need to worry, we have police officers lined at the perimeter of the school and we are taking every available measure to ensure that this does not happen again.” Before Wainwright continued, he looked over his shoulder at the man that Beau had not seen before, “we have received an envoy from the FBI, who has advised us that the remainder of his taskforce will be arriving this evening to aid with the investigation.”

More demanding questions were shouted, and all but only a few students were now standing. Though once the noise boiled down to an uncomfortable silence, the principled introduced Charlie, and the FBI agent beside him, before taking a measured step backwards. The man Beau had not known was Agent Benedict, who stood taller than everyone in room, sporting translucent skin that stretched tightly over his visible cheekbones and beady little eyes; he did not say a single word and simply stood scribbling in his small notebook.

“Good afternoon, students. Some of you may know me as Chief Swan, and I am currently working tirelessly with my department to find and bring these missing kids home.” Beau could see that his father was uncomfortable, if only because of his historical tumultuous relationship with public speaking; but Beau also knew that it killed Charlie that he was not delivering something positive. “Your principle is correct, and I can confirm that there is another missing student. While I unable to provide you with further details, we have informed your parents and they are on their way to collect you shortly.”

Beau wanted nothing more than to pull Charlie aside and get some answers to the thousands of questions that he had. It was clear though, that the suspected abduction had happened near school grounds, serving as one of the few reasons why the school would choose to close, and parents were called en masse.

“—and further to the mandatory curfew, the school will be closed until further notice. You are not to attempt to gain entry tomorrow morning and your parents will be informed as and when a decision is made to reopen it.” With each passing update as to the decisions that had been made, the cafeteria grew ever closer to erupting with uninhibited panic. Some students were already standing with cell phones in hand, confirming that their parents were on their way; nobody wanted to be left waiting alone. Some, however, still hollered questions in Charlie’s direction, many demanding to know who it was that had now joined the missing. Though others, making up the minority, crudely cheered amongst themselves and concocted plans to rendezvous on the shore of La Push beach.

As the unexpected end to the school day drew closer, small groups formed in every direction and conversations began. Some attempted to locate the faces of their classmates in the crowd, reciting a mental rollcall to try and confirm who could be missing. Beau, however, remained next to Mike and found himself hoping against hope that it was not Edward; though inevitably, the possibility circled back around to his suspicions that Edward was something more than human, and how one would actually abduct a member of the supernatural. Were there even members? Or was Edward Cullen the first and last of his kind?

“Come on, come on, pick up dad,” Mike muttered hastily into the receptor of his own cell phone, closing his eyes for seconds at a time while seemingly trying to combat the vomit that was fighting for release. His paleness had morphed into an almost green tinge, and eventually it won out before Mike headed towards the bathrooms at a run.

“Beau, hey,” Charlie appeared through a break in the crowd, more than a head taller than the preoccupied students that littered his path. He was wearing the same clothes that he had left the house in on Sunday, although likely they had made a reappearance in a rotation of outfits he had hurriedly grabbed; the shoulders were wet and his boots were muddied, indicating there had been another search earlier that morning. “How are you doing? I’m sorry I haven’t been home, has Cora been taking good care of you?” Charlie spoke around his movements as he awkwardly moved into a hug, his limbs clumsy but affectionate nonetheless.

Cora was a waitress at the Carver Café and had happily agreed to adopt the Swan residence as a temporary second home. It was just until Charlie could figure out a more permanent schedule, but ultimately Beau did not mind. The past few nights, when Beau had not been with Mike, had been spent playing board games with half of the pieces missing and making small talk over microwave dinners.

In hindsight, Cora was no less than a saint for agreeing to help. Initially the company of a somewhat stranger had been a less than stellar concept, but Beau was grateful to have somebody else in the house; the nights in Forks were far quieter than Arizona, and he sometimes thought he would succumb to madness in the dead of night, when his brain decided to replay his most embarrassing moments on a mental loop.

“Yeah, dad, Cora has been great.” Beau moved one hand along the back of his neck and fiddled with the back of his hairline, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He was finding it difficult to look Charlie directly in the eye, especially because his father looked anything but healthy. His skin had lost its boyish lustre that had always made the single women at the grocery store take a second glance in his direction, and the purple bruises under his eyes betrayed the fact that he had not been sleeping. “You should come home and shower, or at least grab a few hours of sleep,” his hands retreated into the front pockets of his jeans, “it won’t look good if the chief collapses from exhaustion in the middle of a search.”

“I can rest up when these kids are found, bud,” Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke, his chest heaving and slumping as he released a lengthy, shaking sigh. His eyes were bloodshot and the scent of his breath was potent with the burn of coffee grounds, “but look, I wasn’t going to say anything—” he paused before righting his stance and taking a step forward, leaning forward so as to avoid anyone nearby hearing his next words, “but the last abduction happened just off of the reservation, so I don’t want you going down to the beach with these other kids, alright?”

Beau knew that his father could not actively prevent people from going to the beach, or going about their day however they chose now that the school was closing; but it would have been easier for everyone if they just headed home. “The reservation?” The thump of realisation swiftly began to settle in as Beau continued to process Charlie’s words, but sooner rather than later his thoughts turned to Jacob.

Jacob Black and his sisters were the only friends that Beau had to look forward to during the summers he spent with Charlie. When he would be brought down to the reservation and subtly lay hints that he did not want to spend the entire day in a boat on the lake with a fishing rod, it was down beside Rebecca, Rachel and Jacob that he was plopped. Together they had caught crabs along the beach, explored the treelines that marked the boundaries of the Black home and sculpted mud pies before hosting their own insect attended banquets.

“Jacob?” It took a moment for Charlie to catch onto Beau’s question, and suddenly he was quickly shaking his head, “No, no, it wasn’t Jacob. One of the older kids, apparently he was skipping school, but his friends said he never showed up.” Charlie shook his head and it was clear that the circumstances were taking their toll, even more so because he was a parent himself. “Right, well, I’ve got to head back. Cora’s working a double shift, but when I called Dr. Cullen to let him know the school was closing, he said you were more than welcome to spend the afternoon at his place. You don’t mind, do you?”

Beau felt the familiar pang of selfishness accented with humiliation as his mind immediately went to Edward. A chance to see him again, to provide Beau with ample time to gather the courage he needed to ask the questions that had been plaguing his sleep. Though it was likely that he would bail at the last moment, as had become routine whenever he found himself within close proximity to Edward.

“Beau?” Charlie had clearly noticed Beau’s vacant expression, a worried hand pressing gently on his shoulder, “you sure you’re okay? I know I haven’t been home, but what with the FBI coming to town, I need to do everything I can.”

“Sorry, dad, that’s not a problem. I’ll go and find one of the Cullen’s and ride over.” Beau was not entirely sure where the Cullen’s lived, but that minute detail was pushed to the back of his mind in favour of the uncharacteristic exhilaration. Though if it was a toss-up between potentially getting lost driving off of the beaten path just outside of town or asking Rosalie Cullen for a ride in her Mercedes convertible, Beau was going to go with the former — of all of the Cullen siblings, only she felt the need to glower any time their eyes met.

With a final hug shared between them, Beau said goodbye to Charlie and turned, planning to track down Mike and check on him. “Oh, and dad,” Beau paused, looking over his shoulder, “remember to drink more water, not just coffee.” Charlie chuckled for a brief moment before giving a mock salute and nodding, disappearing into the crowd a second later.

Beau retrieved his navy backpack and headed towards the double doors of the cafeteria, though he stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of Mike standing worryingly still beside them. His cell phone was poking through the pale flesh of his balled fist, and as Beau moved closer he could see that one of Mike’s eyebrows was twitching; he seemed to be in some kind of trance, or more likely, shock.

“Did you get through to your dad? What did he say?” Beau closed the distance between them and hesitantly placed his hands on Mike’s arms, squeezing gently in an attempt to pull him from whatever reverie he had fallen into. “Mike? Are you okay?” The colour had still not returned to his cheeks and pools of sweat continued to collect along his brow, was he going to vomit again?

“My dad will be here soon,” Mike paused, immediately pressing his fist against his pale lips, “don’t worry about me, I’ve got to—” he paused again and closed his eyes for a few seconds, “I’m really not well, you go home and I’ll call you later.” Beau struggled to hear the last few words as Mike was already through the doors, almost sprinting and undoubtedly heading towards the bathrooms for a second time.

He had taken off faster than Beau’s mind could process, and his eyes still focused on the swinging doors before he sighed. He contemplated following after Mike but decided against it, convincing himself that Mike would likely want some privacy. The scene however, had caused the cafeteria to drop an entire noise level as those who had yet to leave for the reception area had watched Mike taking off at a run; and wanting to avoid the questioning eyes of the thinning crowd, Beau headed towards the exit, hoping to find one of the more approachable Cullen’s in the parking lot.

Beau pressed a clammy hand against his forehead as he walked, and then tackled the natural curve of his dark fringe; smoothing it back into place a little higher, another mechanic to keep his hands busy. He pondered walking up to one of the Cullen siblings and asking them for directions to their house, and his stomach began to tie itself into knots as he contemplated having to explain that their father had said it was okay; part of him wanted to just head home, to enjoy a hot shower and slip into a pair of the sweatpants he had repurposed as pyjamas.

It was then, as Beau’s preoccupied state caused him to watch the floor as he walked, that a sudden jolt of electricity ignited the fine hairs along the back of his neck. It was a sensation he associated with a singular living, breathing — or not so much — being. He lifted his gaze from the sticky vinyl tiling and his eyes darted from one direction to another, searching for the owner of eyes he could feel burning into him — and then he saw him.

Edward Cullen was staring directly at him from the doorway that fed into the parking lot. All it took was for the pale, taller boy to nod over his shoulder and Beau continued walking towards the first vampire he had ever met.


	2. Osculation

  
Thin droplets of rain quickly began to morph into a steady downpour as Beau followed behind Edward. The foliage along the concrete side path swayed back and forth, indicating that the wind was picking up; and silently, Beau thought that the weather taking a turn for the worst seemed fitting. There was a sombre atmosphere hovering over Forks, and sunshine — even by Maine’s standards — would have felt misplaced.

Soon Beau could feel globules clinging to his eye lashes, and strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Remnants of the minimal product, a plain supermarket-own wax, travelled along the curve of his nose with the rain and tasted salty on his lips; but regardless, Beau remained focused on the shoulders of his vampiric chauffeur.

Though even being in the presence of Edward could not completely ease the constant nausea brought about by being homesick. Beau missed the brightness and the warmth of Phoenix, the dust that would kick up in the distance along a horizon of cacti and heat shimmers; but, and he would make a point of never saying it out loud, there was a certain affinity he found in the bleak palette of Forks. There were infrequent bursts of colour, greens, browns, reds, that reminded him he was not exiled to some forgotten wasteland of mountain boots and plaid, that there was something here that resonated with him.

Edward remained several steps ahead and that alone gave Beau’s anxiety the ammunition it needed to spike. He wondered if Edward was irritated, detesting the role of escort after Dr. Cullen’s kind offer. Perhaps it had simply been an empty gesture that Charlie had failed to identify, one made in a time of tragedy; not unlike offering to stay late at work in the face of an impending rush.

Beau’s eyes fell from the back of the plain, grey t-shirt before him and eyed his worn Converse. For a moment he allowed his eyes to wander, moving from one spot to another each time the rain darkened another patch of concrete; yet despite his best efforts, his mind’s eye still pictured the pale, flawless creature he knew was only a few feet away.

Edward’s physique, as it often seemed to be, was tense and unmoving. Even as each motion of his limbs mimicked an adult feline, they lacked any softness; making Edward all hardened points and sharp edges. He was rigid and angular, narrow, and sleek.

“Give me your keys,” Edward’s voice was like a single bolt of lightning, forcing Beau to realise that he had strayed away with his thoughts. Even as a chorus of keys turning in ignitions sounded and distant trees groaned with the wind, Edward’s voice cut through them clearly and with an edge that confirmed Beau’s suspicions — Edward was annoyed. “Did you hear me?”

Beau blinked twice before realising that he was staring at Edward with a blank expression, one that could cause someone to believe that he was being spoken to for the very first time. Yet even as he willed the words to materialise, Beau was transfixed in a display of creamy topaz; unable to tear his gaze away for even a moment in order to collect his thoughts. 

There had been times over the years that Beau had been met with a glance that lasted a fraction too long, communicating an entire conversation in a matter of seconds — attraction to the same sex. He had peered over the tops of textbooks in the school library frequently when Douglas Abernathy — clichéd quarterback of the Phoenix High Coyotes — had walked past, but never had Beau had his own intense gazes returned. Edward did not strike Beau as being someone who did things by halves, and without even trying, his stare was powerful enough to overwhelm Beau’s conscious mind. 

“Uh, yeah, I mean, yes,” Beau slid his backpack along his arm and unzipped the front pocket, retrieving his single key — no keyring, or colourful trinket attached — and dropped it into Edward’s outstretched hand. He was careful not to let their hands touch, if only to prevent his biology partner from vanishing into thin air; Edward had a habit of doing that whenever they were too close for his comfort.

With that, Edward continued walking and descended the steps at the end of the path, heading silently in the direction of Beau’s rusting pick-up. Despite its appearance, it was a symbol of joy, and Beau really did like it; it had character, and just like things that were unassuming or poorly put together yet still performed, he saw himself in it.

“Wait,” Edward continued walking, “Edward,” Beau raised his voice slightly but held no disillusion that he had been heard the first time, “what about your car?” He hooked a thumb towards the silver Volvo parked only a few spaces over, as if Edward needed a reminder, and furrowed his brow when Edward paused but did not turn. It was as if Edward liked to pretend that he was perpetually alone, and along came Beau at every turn intent on bursting his solitary bubble.

“Hello, Beau,” the hairs along Beau’s forearms immediately stood to attention as a voice far more whimsical than any of his mother’s door-hanging charms filtered into his ears, “has Edward offered you a ride back to the house already?” Seemingly out of thin air — and armed with a plain black umbrella she kindly held above Beau’s rapidly soaking hair — was Alice Cullen.

Alice was thin, lithe, and seemingly delicate; though there was a particular air about her, in the sharpness of her nose and the pristine, unmoving quality to her own hair that said she was anything but. Unlike Edward, all of her points had soft edges. It was a shared quality among them, one that Beau had noticed during one of his subtle gazing sessions in the cafeteria; the Cullen’s were all pointy.

Once Beau’s conscious mind had managed to process that he was standing closer to a Cullen than perhaps any one of his peers ever had, he nodded slowly. “I think so?” Beau turned back to Edward and almost retreated from the glare, though he noticed that this one was aimed at Alice and not him, for once. Was it supposed to be some kind of secret? Had Beau been unwittingly forced onto the battlefield of a sibling argument, for which he had no context?

“I’m taking him back to his house, Alice. You can take my car today.” Edward, in one swift movement, retrieved his own set of car keys from one of his front pockets and tossed them towards Alice. The speed at which they coursed through the air was dizzying, but without so much as a flinch, Alice caught them effortlessly and offered Edward an amused smirk. “Let’s go, Beau.” Seemingly Edward had decided Beau was now worthy of being spoken to, and involuntarily, Beau’s feet began moving in Edward’s direction — his heart almost riding itself of its mortal coil at the sound of his name leaving Edward’s lips. 

“Bye, Alice,” Beau half turned his torso to wave back at the most approachable of the Cullen siblings; who was still smirking at Edward, as if she was trying to communicate a witty retort with her eyes alone. Though once she was evidently finished, she waved pleasantly back to Beau and turned dancingly on her heel towards the Volvo — it was not until a moment later that he realised that Edward’s brothers, Emmett and Jasper had not been in school today.

The rest of the journey across the parking lot was unsurprisingly taken in silence, with Beau attempting to discern the true cause of Edward’s mood. Though it had to be said that Edward had never been warm, or even polite, and that there was a wall around him — titanium steel, seven inches thick — that was impenetrable. It did nothing but force Beau to realise that he was a masochist when it came to Edward Cullen.

“I thought we were going back to yours?” Beau played at being nonchalant, pulling on the passenger side door of his truck and looking across the seats at Edward; who was already positioned at the wheel and staring out of the windshield. Absentmindedly Beau ran a hand through his hair and felt his fingertips chill at the wetness, before hastily wiping them along the front of his jeans and stepping up onto the edge of the footwell.

“It would be better—” As Edward spoke, Beau attempted to hoist himself up onto the seat, but instead, immediately lost his footing and felt the wet sole of his shoe slide clumsily. He expected to meet the ground harshly, to end up with a bruise that would serve as a fool’s mark; but instead, a fraction of a second later, he thudded against something cold and hard.

He looked up and was greeted with a view of Edward’s jaw, their eyes meeting as blood rushed to Beau’s head and dizzied his vision. Across mere seconds, his mind processed slipping, falling, being caught and Edward somehow materialising behind him.

Beau really did think that Edward was a beautiful creature, in the same way that an archaeologist might appreciate the beauty of a Velociraptor; but in the end, that beauty still belonged to an apex predator.

“How did you—” Beau was looking directly upwards, “how did you do that?” The tone in his voice conveyed his curiosity, and every fibre of his being screeched at him to ask the million-dollar question. Though Beau had never thought of himself as brave, or courageous, more of a supporting character that observed from afar; and supporting characters did not ask the hard-hitting questions. 

For a moment Edward remained silent, his piercing eyes now burning a hole into Beau’s forehead. He was momentarily incapacitated with shock, undoubtedly having acted on instinct, but that quickly morphed into fury; his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tensed even more, if that was possible. “Instead of satiating your need to question everything, to _fall_ from everything, why don’t you just pay attention to what you’re doing?” Edward righted Beau’s stance and sighed, mumbling to himself as he rounded the cargo bed and climbed back into the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the material of the steering wheel, causing the metallic shaft connecting it to the dashboard to groan in protest.

For a moment Beau stood completely still, hurt by Edward’s words but simultaneously trying to fully wrap his head around what had just happened. Edward had moved incredibly fast, faster than the naked eye could comprehend; and yet still, Beau shook his head and climbed — successfully, this time — into the passenger’s seat. He mentally marked this moment as the point of no return, the point in which he no longer needed to question, could no longer pretend he was intelligent enough to stay away, and that Edward could no longer deny there was something _more_ to him.

Edward turned his head slightly, eyeing Beau’s soaked clothes — his blue sweater had become a deep cerulean after the rain, and his jeans were even darker. For a moment Beau could have sworn that he looked angry, not with him, but himself; as though he was infuriated that he could not somehow control the weather. It was a look that ignited curiosity within Beau, but ultimately provided more questions than answers.

With the engine of the pick-up roaring as Edward pulled out of the parking space, Beau watched as Charlie and Principle Wainwright did their very best to calm the congregation of parents that had gathered at the foot of the main steps. Some of them visibly sobbed as they listened to the announcement recited in the cafeteria, while others illustrated their questions with waving arms and balled fists.

As the pick-up passed the parking lot gates and turned onto the slick road, Beau angled his elbow on the protruding door panel and rested his chin in his palm. Despite the number of times that he had made the journey to Forks high school, the parallel armies of trees always looked different. His line of sight moved in between the drops of rain that littered the exterior of the window and he watched the passing foliage as he tried to think of the most tactful way to raise the topic of Edward’s supposed vampirism.

He doubted that you could just _ask_ a vampire if they were a vampire, and he shuddered to think what would happen if he had wholly misread Edward and ended up being a late lunch. Though what Beau could be sure of was that Edward, and the rest of the Cullens, were not responsible for the kidnappings — he would have preferred to chalk it up to a proven intuition or solid evidence, but it was merely a feeling.

“What are you thinking?” Again, Edward’s voice managed to cut through Beau’s reverie and succeeded in commanding his attention. Beau was still staring out of the window and took a moment to carefully choose his words before answering the question. He considered downplaying the barrage of thoughts that were swirling around his consciousness but assumed that Edward would somehow see through whatever false answer he gave.

“I’m wondering if there’s something more than human kidnapping my friends,” it was undeniably the boldest remark that Beau had ever made, and he was unnerved by how anxious it made him; yet despite his heart rate increasing and his mouth going dry, he chose not to regret it. “I think there are things we can’t explain, as human beings, so we try to ignore them.” His heartbeat ascended to the back of his throat.

The following silence was almost torturous, and for a time there was nothing more than the rhythmic sound of the windscreen wipers and rain hitting glass. He suspected that Edward too was choosing his next words carefully, and it was only when Beau could no longer tame his curiosity that he pulled his gaze from the passenger side window and looked over at Edward.

“Do you agree?” Beau had poked the bear, and now for some reason he could not stop himself, “that there are things out there that are supernatural?” The small modicum of power his boldness had afforded him was intoxicating — but for all the confidence that Beau was gorging on, Edward had seemingly chosen to ignore him.

A few more minutes and Beau sighed in defeat, deciding that he had pushed Edward too far and would be forced to regret his singular moment of bravery. If Edward was a vampire, it was not a fact that he was willing to share; which was not entirely unsurprising. If there was one thing he _did_ know about Edward Cullen, it was that he was private, and did not do anything that he did not want to. Or at least, Beau hoped that was the case and that Edward was not instead debating where he was going to hide the body.

Eventually the driveway of Charlie’s home came into view, and Beau surprised himself by feeling relief at the sight. All of the lights were off, and the structure appeared to be nothing more than a dreary skeleton in the overcast lighting, but it shone like a beacon of retreat; somewhere that promised a long, hot shower, clean sweatpants and most importantly, the metaphorical sand in which Beau could bury his head.

Edward turned the key to kill the engine and Beau stared forward, choosing a particularly slender tree among thicker trunks to focus on. He really had no idea how far the forest behind Charlie’s house stretched, and he had no real intention of finding out; but it was the ideal distraction when he was trying to ignore how awkward things were in the cab of his pick-up. He contemplated slowly reaching for his backpack and silently getting out of the truck, but some irrational fear prevented him from moving; mentally, he was still trying to build up the courage.

“What if there are?” Edward’s voice was low, so low that Beau was not entirely certain that he had not imagined it. Edward had not moved a single muscle, literally, and it was difficult not to compare him to some kind of Greek statue on display; especially when the natural light was low, and the scent of rainfall and fresh air was intoxicating.

Beau did not answer, but finally pulled his gaze away from the trees and towards Edward, who was now staring directly at him. He felt like a lamb being unwittingly prepped for slaughter every time they shared a look, and this time was no different. “I said, what if there are?” Edward’s voice was low, almost hungry, and he inched his face ever so slightly towards Beau’s. One of his arms was draped elegantly over the steering wheel, the other propping him up with his elbow against the material of the driver’s seat — his hair, ordinarily immaculately placed and unmoving, was still dripping wet.

“I,” Beau gulped, an embarrassing sound, “I suppose I’ve always believed there’s something else out there.” His voice was shaking, and he too found his face edging closer to Edward’s; the movement was involuntary, as though he were being pulled towards him like a magnet. Within seconds their noses were inches apart, and Beau’s eyes scoured the angles of Edward’s sharp face, particularly the prominent curve of his cupid’s bow.

“You’re not scared?” Beau did not know if the question was rhetorical, and truthfully, he did not have an answer, “you know what I am, but yet you agreed to be alone with me.” For all the electricity that crackled between them, and the iciness that Beau could feel emanating from Edward, his mind latched onto the admission. Edward _was_ a vampire, a fabled drinker of blood and inhabitant of the night, but what was more baffling, was his sudden change of mood from the stoic, uncooperative driver.

“I would be, if your mood swings weren’t giving me whiplash,” the edges of his mouth turned up into a smile and he laughed, a brief breathless sound in the darkness of the cab, “But I suppose the human thing to say is, are you going to eat me?” The words were normal, but the context was not, and Beau knew that he should be unnerved or at least a little wary, but he was not; instead, he wanted to begin asking all of the questions he had mentally compiled over the last few months.

In a mere nanosecond, Edward’s entire demeanour changed, and he was once again as rigid as the marble his skin pretended to be. The colour had drained from his face, if that was possible, and Beau thought that he heard him sigh — Beau wanted to ask why Edward was the way he was, why he seemed to burden himself with unnecessary hardship, but before he could, Edward opened the driver’s side door and headed towards the house.

It was always one very small step forward and three large step backwards with Edward Cullen, and Beau had no assumptions that, that would change in the near future — but he would take what he could get, even if it meant enduring Edward’s frequent cold shoulder. Quickly he grabbed a hold of his backpack and ventured out into the rain, that had only increased in its onslaught since he had stood in the school parking lot.

He prayed to any unseen deity that would listen to steady him as he walked slowly towards the few steps that led up to the porch. Beau had a feeling that if he were to slip once again, Edward would have no desire to save him; his Converse squeaked with each step that he took, and his backpack proved to be a terrible shield as he held it over his head.

“You know, Edward,” Beau said the words quietly but with as much courage as he could muster alongside his rapidly dropping temperature — the rain was now accompanied by a bitter wind — and he half laughed and shook his head as he fished for his door keys in the front pockets of his jeans. “If you have some kind of problem with me, or if you feel uncomfortable now that I know your big secret, we can just forget it, really.” The rain had caused his jeans to constrict around his thighs, but eventually he felt the cold edge of metal against his fingertips before he retrieved his keys. “It’s no big—” Beau had intended to hold his keys up triumphantly, but stood startled as silently, Edward had once again closed the distance between them.

Beau had, silently and in the quiet moments when his irrational fear of telepaths at school was not fervent, imagined kissing Edward. He wondered if his lips would be soft as they melded together, whether it would be awkward and uncomfortable or the mystique that Edward had cultivated did not guarantee experience in all areas of intimacy.

In actuality, it was not awkward nor was it uncomfortable, his lips were not soft but hard and even colder than the bitter elements that continued to rage at the edge of the porch — but despite the fact, they felt comfortable as they battled the natural temperature of Beau’s own. Edward had not waited for an invitation, or for Beau to finish his sudden outburst, he had simply acted.

Beau’s eyes were shut tightly as all of his excitement, curiosity and desire exploded at Edward’s touch. His hands instinctively traversed the length of Edward’s cold arms before crossing at the wrists around his neck — Edward’s own hands had found their place on either side of Beau’s waist, his fingers curling against the wet material of Beau’s sweater and leaving ten cold imprints on the flesh beneath. Quickly the kiss became desperate, though for all of Beau’s worry that he was going to stumble forward and send Edward flying — in light of his natural inability to remained balanced — the vampire did not move an inch.

Hesitantly, Beau began to feel Edward pulling away from him, and though every fibre of his being told him to simply move forward to close the distance as it expanded, he resisted. Despite the coldness of Edward’s lips, Beau’s own burned after they were free and met with the cold air; it was as though he had been electrocuted, but mildly, and at a voltage that only provided pleasure.

“Some of us do need to breath, remember,” Beau scratched the back of his head nervously as his usual, albeit awkward, defense mechanism kicked in. His eyes looked over Edward’s features and looked for any sign that the kiss had been a disappointment, but there were no signs to attest to such — instead, Edward appeared to be somewhat petrified, or at least slightly horrified. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” The question was intended to be some kind of joke, a means to lighten the mood, but silently Beau knew that he longed for some kind of confirmation.

It was then that Edward managed to surprise Beau, truly, by laughing. “Was it bad, he asks,” he hung his head and took a long, drawn out breath. He paced back and forth in a few short steps, his mouth moving but his whispers too low for Beau to make out, even this close to him. “I have tried to keep my distance, tried to convince myself that you would be better off, _safer_ if—” he cut himself off and then returned to his pacing.

Beau watched him with widened eyes, not entirely sure what he was witnessing. Had his kiss managed to break Edward Cullen? “But I’ve decided that I don’t care,” Edward turned slightly and this time ended his pace in front of Beau, “I’ve attempted to remain sensible, I left town limits so that I wouldn’t be tempted by—” then, Edward paused entirely and his body froze as if he had been put on pause. “I thought Charlie said nobody would be home tonight?” The question caught Beau off guard, and he blinked twice before he processed the words.

“That’s right, Cora has to work and Charlie—” Before Beau had even finished speaking, Edward had headed to the front door, grasped the door handle and forced it open. The interior of the house was just as dully illuminated as the exterior, Edward’s shape mixing with the darkness of shadows. “Edward,” Beau cautiously followed suit and stepped over the threshold, “hey, what’s the—”

Instantly everything went black, and Beau’s view of the back of Edward’s head was replaced with the ceiling of the entryway; he attempted to squint his eyes to banish the sudden blurriness that had infected his sight, but failed miserably as he became aware of the searing pain at the base of his skull. It did not take long before unconsciousness came for him, but not before he heard Edward call out to him.


End file.
